Don't Be Afraid
by Gandalf3213
Summary: New York is no place for a cripple. After his parents died, Crutchie was left to fend for himself. His life before, during, and after the strike was a story still waiting to be told.
1. Alone

**I don't own Newsies. I wish I did.**

He looked at the small apartment he'd been living in since he was born and gently wiggled his fingers in good bye. Taking up his stick, Chris limped away, not looking back.

He didn't know what he was going to do. He had only the few coins lying around the house. The six-year-old felt them jingling in his pockets and tried to smile. He couldn't.

Just days ago his parents had died. Both killed when a carriage fell over on top of them. Now he was on his own. A cripple in this strange city with nowhere to go.

He looked around. Chris had no idea where he was going. Did it matter? Without a place to come back to at night, did it matter how far he wandered? The idea of having so much freedom scared him and he held on tighter to the stick at his side. That and a few clothes were the only things he'd been able to take from his tiny house.

The street was packed today. He gazed longingly at the pastries and goods stacked up in carts, their scents wafting into the street. Chris heard the coins calling to him from inside his pocket. They were few. They wouldn't last for more then a few days.

Chris didn't know how to go about getting a job. He had seen boys on the streets for sure, running errands, shining shoes. He glanced down at his twisted leg and sighed, a very grown up thing for one so small. How would he survive? No one would hire him with his limp.

The sun was setting. Chris went up to a vender who was just packing up. "Can I have a piece of bread, sir?" his words came out uncertain as he held out a small coin.

The man took the money and handed over a large slice of bread. Chris took it and sat down in a doorway, eating it while he thought.

Mother and dad had always told him that he couldn't work until he went to school. He hadn't even started school yet.

They'd also told him not to stay outside all night. What else was he supposed to do?

Chris sniffed, tears leaking from his eyes. The bread swam in front of his face, going in and out of focus. He'd thought that there were no tears left. He'd cried so much this week.

Laying his stick to the side, Chris took out a thick wool blanket from his small pack on his back. The street was loud with people shouting and moving, but he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to find a better, safer place for the night.

He fell to sleep, clutching his stick and his pack, still crying.

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	2. Partners?

**I own it...not.**

Eight-year-old Jack Kelly already knew the score. He had been through his fair-share of hard times and had started selling papes about a year ago. He found he was naturally good at it and rose through the ranks, becoming an idol for the youngest kids.

Right now it was March, and it was still cold. He wrapped his thin jacket tighter around him and glanced around, looking for a crowd. The streets were unnaturally deserted. Two in the afternoon was a little late for selling, but he still had ten papes left and didn't feel like eating them that night.

Jack heard a scream. He whipped around, nearly losing his papes. The sound had come from an alley he'd just passed. Another sound ― like wood clattering on the ground. He retraced his steps and peered down the alley.

Two boys, Jack's age or a little older, stood in front of another figure. Jack couldn't make out much about him except that he was younger, maybe seven, and was tall and thin. He carried a blanket on his back and was reaching for a stick that the boys had snatched.

"What's wrong?" One boy asked, his voice too sweet for Jack's liking. "Can't get up without your precious stick?"

Jack's blood boiled. Before he knew what was happening he'd rushed at the boys, knocking them over like dominoes as he tackled one. A short scuffle ensued in which Jack got a black eye and both the other boys got two. They ran off, looking back only once.

Jack went over to the boy on the ground, kneeling beside him. "They hurt you?" he asked, passing over the stick that had fallen to the ground.

The boy shook his head no and struggled to get up. His shirt was ripped in several places and he could see the bruises that littered his skin. His lips were bleeding, making it hard for him to talk. He wavered as he stood up.

"If you can't walk I'll carry you." Jack offered, seeing the boy nearly fall back down. A cold look made him quiet.

"I don't want nobody carrying me." The boy said fiercely, standing up without wobbling this time. Jack nodded wordlessly, not sure what to say.

"What's your name?" He asked as he picked up his papers. He dusted them off before putting them back on top of his shoulder.

"Crutchie." The boy said, looking at the papers admiringly. "You sell those?"

Jack nodded and they walked out of the alley together. They were quiet for a while as they walked down the block in the direction of loud whoops and shouts. Then Crutchie asked tentatively. "Can you teach me?"

"Teach you what?" Jack asked, hovering on the edge of the crowd, trying to find the best place to start.

Crutchie gave him a sideways look. "How to sell papes." He faltered as Jack looked at him. "I mean, I don't know how, and I don't know if I can, but it's worth a try and all, right? No reason not to ―" he would have kept going if Jack hadn't cut him off.

"I'll teach you, but why do you want to sell papes?" He plunged into the crowd, trying to make his way towards the front.

"I don't got nothing better to do." Crutchie said, keeping up easily. Jack looked at him and smiled.

"Okay, guess we're like, partners now. I'm Jack." He spat on his hand and stuck it out like he'd seen the older boys do. Crutchie spat on his own and shook it, smiling too.

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	3. Something Warm

**I own nothing.**

Twelve-year-old Crutchie shivered and hugged his jacket closer to himself. April was still cold in New York, and he was suddenly wishing that he lived in Santa Fe, the place Jack was always talking about. It looked nice...warm.

Shaking off the cold he thrust his hand into the air, shouting. Jack's voice rang in his head, from years ago when he had taught him how to use everything to his advantage. _Don't ever say the front page. Use the stuff on page 7 or 14. Elaborate. Make it more interesting. Remember that these guys aren't very creative. It's up to us to get the word out._

It had always worked. He had sold twenty-seven papers today, and had only three left. Two in the afternoon wasn't the best time for selling, and usually by noon anything you had left you ate, but Crutchie felt he could get rid of his last ones.

He hobbled into a small crowd, using his stick expertly, then let himself sink to one side. Another thing Jack had showed him. _Crips have a better chance then anybody at selling papes. Once your over nine or ten, you ain't cute no more, but you got a born excuse. Use it. Sag a little. Don't stay up straight. And look hurt_.

Crutchie had objected to this at first. He didn't want anyone treating him differently, and he'd seen boys sell papes without any deformities. He found, though, that by noon they were wishing they were crips, and it did actually make life easier. Odd.

He weaved through the crowds, scouting out for weak points. Ladies and old people were the most sympathetic...there was one, with a motherly bonnet and a half-full basket, like she was doing her shopping.

"By a paper, miss?" he asked, coming up to her and sagging a little bit more. "There's been a fire at a factory, everyone knows about it."

This was news to her. It was news to Crutchie, too. He'd just made it up. She nodded, looking a little frightened. He took the money gratefully and went quickly off, feeling a little sorry for scaring the woman. Maybe her husband worked in a factory.

He sold his last two papes in the same fashion. Pocketing the change, he smiled, feeling worn out but happy. He was making money. Real money. He wandered over to the outdoor market, thinking of buying something hot.

"Hey Crutchie, you doing alright?" Jack was behind him. Crutchie smiled, nodding at him and his new apprentice, Racetrack. "Yeah, just sold my last pape."

"Want five more? We ain't ever going to sell them. Someone might as well." he handed over a small stack, and Crutchie saw that he did indeed have at least five or six papes left.

"Sure, thanks Jack." He smiled. Jack smiled back, ruffling Crutchie's hair.

"You're doing good, kid." Jack commented, his voice light. "You'll be hauling a thousand papes a week in no time."

Crutchie smiled. He hoped so. Then he'd go someplace warm. He hurried off, papes clutched tightly in his hands. Before heading back into the crowded streets, he bought a coffee.

Anything to keep warm.

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	4. Of Birthdays and Cowboys

**I own it not.**

Crutchie opened the door to Tibby's. It was the newsie hangout, as long as they bought something. He saw ten boys sitting at a table and went over to them, a smile crossing his face.

"Happy birthday Race!" he exclaimed, taking a seat between Racetrack and Blink. Racetrack smiled at him. It was his fourteenth birthday. Now he was the same age as most of the newsies at the table.

"Yeah, it's been a good day." Racetrack said. "No rain! Who'd think it'd end today!" It had been raining for almost two weeks. It ruined their papers and made selling them living Hell.

Mush shoved Racetrack. "Yeah, it ended just for you, you lousy―" he went on happily, calling Race every name under the sun (most he'd just made up)

"Wish Cowboy could be here," Boots said, still smiling. "But I hear he got three more months for going against Snyder."

"He would." Skittery said darkly, "Jack's always fighting about something. I'd think he'd die if he didn't have someone to fight for."

Crutchie rolled his eyes, though it pained him to think of Jack in the Refuge. Jack had been his partner and best friend for seven years.

Racetrack banged loudly on the table to get everyone's attention. "So I ain't got no presents?" he said, smiling. Food and napkins were thrown at him and he put his hands over his head, laughing.

"We're buying you dinner, ain't that enough?" Blink shouted, hitting Racetrack playfully on the back of the head. Racetrack shoved him, making him tip over a plate. Crutchie caught it, putting it back on the table.

"Oy, Crutchie, you got good hands!" Mush said admiringly. "Why don't you come by the Park tomorrow? We got a stickball game going there. You won't be able to run or nuttin', but you'll make a heck of a pitcher!"

"Crutchie, a pitcher?" Racetrack wrapped Crutchie in an arm hold and messes up his already unruly hair. "Well, who'd a guessed that?"

Crutchie smiled. He liked the thought of being pitcher. He'd always liked stickball, but was reserved to watching because of his leg. Now he'd actually get to play!

Itey stretched, then looked at the clock. "Hey Blink, we'd better get going. We need to get the evening edition out."

Blink rolled his good eye, then glanced around the table. "C'mon guys, pay up, I ain't got enough coins for all this."

Grumbling good-naturedly the boys managed to get together the bill, then they wandered out in ones or twos, everyone wishing Racetrack a happy birthday again.

Crutchie and Racetrack left together. "How was the track today?" Crutchie asked as they walked down the streets towards the lodging house.

"Okay. I won fifty cents on one race, but then lost thirty on the next. I beat it after that."

They walked in companionable silence. Since Jack had been sent to the Refuge, Racetrack and Crutchie had gotten closer. Race watched out for Crutchie and Crutchie was always there when Race needed a hand.

When they got back to the Refuge, they saw a carriage go by and a lone figure hop out of the back of it.

Crutchie rubbed his eyes. "I don't believe it. Race, you see what I'm seeing?"

Race patted him on the back. "I see it Crutchie. What'cha doing back here, Cowboy, I thought you had another three months."

Jack shrugged, and Crutchie noticed that he'd grown thin, his clothes ragged. He still had his hat though. "I had better things to do." Jack explained as they walked into the lodging house. "So how's things goin' 'round here?"

Crutchie smiled appreciatively. "Pretty good. Just got back from Tibby's. It's Race's birthday."

Jack frowned. "I thought you just had a birthday before I was put in the Refuge."

Racetrack shrugged, then grinned slyly. "Hey, I got a free dinner."

Crutchie whacked him with his stick, and Racetrack danced out of the way, laughing. He ran up the stairs, shouting, "He's back, boys. Cowboy's back!"

Jack put a hand on Crutchie's shoulder. "I wouldn't suggest going up the stairs for a few minutes." He muttered, grinning, as twenty or so boys stormed down the steps. "You're liable to break another leg."

Crutchie grinned and ducked out of Jack's arm. "Nice to have you back, Cowboy."

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	5. Strike

**I don't own it.**

The say of the strike started out much like any other. Crutchie woke up in the newsie lodging house, fought with Mush and Kid Blink for the sink, tripped over Skittery's big feet and fell down the stairs, and had to run to be at the World headquarters before the bell rang.

Yeah, your typical day.

Except it wasn't. Crutchie showed up a little behind the rest of the boys. There was a blockade in just inside the gate. "What happened?" Crutchie muttered to Racetrack. He shrugged, looking concerned.

"What's going on here?" Crutchie turned around to see Jack standing just behind him and Racetrack. He jumped slightly at the surprise.

"They jacked up the price! You hear that Jack? Ten cents a hundred!" Blink raged from on top of a little platform. He didn't see one of the Delancey brothers behind him, mimicking his words. "You know, it's bad enough we have to eat what we don't sell…"

Crutchie didn't hear the rest of his words. God, this was going to rob them all blind. He heard murmurings around him from the other newsies.

"I'll be back sleeping on the streets…"

"I don't get it, with all the money Pulitzer's making, why would he gouge us?"

Next to him, Racetrack answered, his face contorted with rage, "Because he's a tight wad, that's why."

Jack pushed past Crutchie and Racetrack and went up to Weasel. Crutchie couldn't hear exactly what he said but it didn't look like it was going very well. Crutchie sighed and looked down.

Small groups were organized as conversations formed. Blink was next to Jack. "They can't do this to me, Jack."

Racetrack, once again with an expression that Crutchie had almost never seen, replied, "They can do whatever they want, it's their stinkin' paper."

Boots looked between all the boys, his neck craned to stare them in the eye. "It ain't fair! We got no rights at all!"

Jack nodded, though Crutchie didn't think he'd heard a word of what was said. Crutchie followed him as he went to go sit down. "Listen," Jack said, "Nobody buys any papes, you hear?"

"What?" Crutchie said, wondering what Jack was thinking.

"Well, if we don't sell papes, no one sells papes," Jack looked at the boys defiantly, as if daring them to disagree. One boy, David, who had just started the day before and seemed to hit it off with Jack, clarified, "You mean like a strike?"

"Yeah, a strike." Jack said. Roars came from all the other boys. Racetrack's mouth went slack. Crutchie had to work to keep from laughing at his expression, "What? Jack, are you out of your mind?"

"It's a good idea!" Jack argued. He turned to Cutchie, who smiled, "Crutchie, take up a collection."

He smiled, "Will do, Jack!" he held out his hat to the boys, who put their two bits they were expecting to spend on papes in it. The crowd started moving towards the gate. From up ahead, Crutchie could hear Jack and David arguing.

"What you think about this?" Racetrack asked Crutchie. Crutchie looked at him sideways. "I don't know yet."

Racetrack looked troubled. "I just hope no one gets hurt."

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	6. Warnings

**Don't own it. Nope.**

"Listen, I need you all to be ambassadors."

Crutchie stood in the middle of the crowd. Racetrack was slightly to his right, still scowling. He didn't like the idea of a strike. Crutchie didn't really blame him.

But Jack seemed so into the idea. His voice carried over the crowd of Newsies. Next to him was David, who seemed as into the strike as Racetrack, but Crutchie guessed that Jack was already working on him. He'd be sold on the idea by morning.

Already all around him boys were shouting back at Jack.

"Say Jack, I'll take Harlem!" It was natural that Kid Blink was the first one to call out. Give Blink a fight and he's on top of it, even if it was a lost cause.

Mush was next, "I got the Battery, Jack!" Mush was different then Blink, quieter. But he'd do anything for Jack, and Jack knew it.

"Hey, I'll take the Bronx."

Crutchie surprised himself by volunteering next. He clapped a hand on Racetrack's shoulder. "C'mon. Let's go."

He could tell that other Newsies were dispersing and planned to get out of the crowd before people started jostling him. Racetrack wasn't moving, though. "We'll stop by the track on the way." Crutchie wheedled, knowing that that was the only way to sell Racetrack on the idea.

They walked, and slowly the shouts of the striking Newsies faded into the distance. The silence was long but not uncomfortable as the two friends walked the familiar streets. "Listen, Crutchie, I just…I just don't want to see anyone get hurt here. And I think that's what's going to happen."

"No it isn't." Crutchie said bracingly, clapping Racetrack on the back with his free hand. Racetrack bit his lip, his olive-colored face thoughtful.

"It's just…I mean, if you got hurt Crutch, I…I don't know." Racetrack looked down, embarrassed.

Crutchie smiled. "Aww…don't worry Race. I'll be okay."

The track's didn't take that long. Racetrack knew the jockey's and stable hands and the word spread quickly. All of them agreed to the strike…if they got other people to join. They left the track, promising to come back after hearing from the Bronx.

Crutchie's "spot" was on the edge of the Bronx, so he knew most of the kids there. He was especially close to their leader, Hawkeye, who owed Crutchie after he warned Hawkeye about Snyder's newest tirade.

"So anyway, Hawk." Crutchie explained quickly. "This is going to be pretty big. It could be a turning point for the Newsies, you know?"

Hawkeye glanced at the boy next to him, who was slightly shorter with brilliant blue eyes. He shrugged and Hawkeye turned back to Crutchie, smiling. "Listen Crutch, if you get Spot Conlon and his people to join, we'll be there."

Crutchie knew that Spot was from Brooklyn. He also knew that he didn't care about anything that wasn't directly related to his own territory. But Jack was the one who was talking to him, so maybe…"yeah, don't worry, Brooklyn will join."

After stopping by the track to tell them of Hawkeye's decision, the two friends went back to Jack and told him about the Bronx's reluctance. "They just want to know we're serious, Jack." Racetrack explained.

Jack ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, Spot said the same thing." He suddenly grinned, an action that made Crutchie, Racetrack, and Mush groan. They knew that grin. "You guys want some sport?"

Suddenly, Crutchie was nearly tripping over himself in an attempt to keep up with the others. Just as he broke through the gate of World's headquarters a punch was aimed at his head.

Amid the chaos, Crutchie managed to get on top of a cart of newspapers. He through them over the side, hitting Racetrack on the head. Racetrack looked up at Crutchie, a smile on his face. All his earlier trepidations about the strike seemed to have vanished.

Then all the Newsies seemed to be moving again. Almost before Crutchie realized was happening, Racetrack was calling back to him, "Crutchie! Scram, Crutch, scram!"

Crutchie leaped off the cart only to be blocked by the Delancey brothers. "Hiya guys…" he started before his crutch was knocked out from under him. His last sight was of the Newsies, gaping at the gate, Racetrack in the front. He thought of Racetrack's warnings about someone getting hurt, and hated knowing that he was right.

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	7. Darkness

**I don't own it.**

Crutchie lay on the ground, not moving, barely breathing, trying to force himself to keep awake.

It had been a long time since he'd gotten hurt this badly. The newsies took care of each other. Older boys who thought Crutchie was an easy target would walk away with broken noses, courtesy of one of the other boys, usually Cowboy or Racetrack.

Right now, Crutchie seriously doubted whether he could move. His good leg, his right leg, now felt the same as his left, which was eternally paralyzed. He suspected the cause was one of the Delancy's heavy boots, which had stomped on his back, leaving deep bruises and injuring his spine.

But Crutchie had no intention of moving. He felt light-headed and kept seeing waves of light that squirmed at the edges of his vision. He knew enough to not give into the welcoming nothingness which threatened to engulf him. Instead he busied himself by thinking of his friends.

Racetrack. He'd been right after all. He had gotten hurt. But was Racetrack alright? Suddenly, a vision of Racetrack, his small, light body broken and bleeding, burst into his mind. Crutchie pushed it away, feeling the sting of tears prick at the corner of his eyes.

Mush had gotten hurt in the fight. Crutchie had seen a large man take a swing at his chest, knocking Mush off his feet and probably breaking a few ribs. He hoped that it was nothing more serious.

Jack….the Cowboy could take care of himself, of course, but to what extent? It was obvious that the crowd had surged around him and David, the new boys, as the leaders of their fight.

More faces, of Blink and Skittery and Itey and Boots and Specs, all of them broken, bleeding, helpless against the many faceless men carrying chains and bats and guns.

And suddenly, Crutchie knew they were going to lose.

He had always been optimistic, even on the coldest, dreariest days when he didn't have enough money for even a piece of bread and ended up starving that night. Hope was something he'd been born with. But there in the dark room, Crutchie felt the tears dribble down his cheeks.

The door opened. Crutchie scrambled for his crutch, trying to flip over to protect his bruised head. He knew it was Oscar and Morris. They weren't done yet. Instead, a small boy walked in, talking to somebody just out of sight. "Do you know why Old Snyder sent us down here --." he cut off when the lantern's light fell on Crutchie, who was still groping for his stick.

"Hey Binky get in here!" the boy yelled to his invisible friend, kneeling next to Crutchie. "What happened?" he asked quickly, eyeing Crutchie's torn clothing and bruises. His hand skimmed over Crutchie's shoulder, which had mysteriously stopped working after he was thrown to the ground. "I can fix this if you want." the boy offered, his voice low and kind. Crutchie nodded, waondering what his arm looked like. He couldn't turn his head that way. The boy pressed hard on his shoulder, then moved it upwards in a fumbling motion that left Crutchie gasping for breath in an effort not to scream.

The other boy, Binky, had gotten there. Crutchie tried flexing his fingers as the muscualar boy pulled him to his feet, only to have Crutchie sink back down again. The boy pointed at Crutchie's left leg. His pants were torn and the skin was scraped away. You could see the shape and angle of the bone which obviously couldn't support him. Never could. "That new?" Binky asked, his voice hard.

Crutchie shook his head, still fumbling for the old crutch. The smaller boy had it and was holding it carefully. "No, I was born with it. But the other one usually works." He looked down, tried to move his right leg, and found he couldn't. Surprise and fear burst through him, making him gulp. He reached towards the boy with his crutch. "Please, let me have that."

The boy shook his head. "It won't do you no good. Let me and Bink carry you out."

Crutchie shook his head and, in one smooth move, grabbed the long stick from the short boy. "I don't want nobody carrying me!" his voice was tense as he tried to lift himself up with his newly mended arm and unmoving right leg. He shook under the strain.

The short boy slipped to Crutchie's left side, keeping him upright. "Let me just help you, okay? My name's Ten Pin." he flashed a toothy white smile at Crutchie as he handed the lantern to the bigger boy. Crutchie nodded, allowing himself to be taken from the cold dark room, painfully aware that he was dripping blood all over this little boy.

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	8. Dreams

**I own it not.**

"Hey Ten Pin."

Crutchie woke up with a start. He hadn't even realized he'd been asleep until the moment he was awake again. He still ached all over, though the blood had dried. The wound in his head was still open. He glanced around worriedly for the source of the voice. Surely Jack hadn't been captured again?

"You got a new guy here. Crutchie?"

Crutchie bit his lip, he looked around for Jack and finally saw him at the window. Crutchie drew in a great, steadying breath. He didn't want to be going crazy.

"The gimp? Yeah, I'll get him."

Ten Pin's voice broke through his panic. The boy was very nice, with a large, toothy smile. He'd talked to Crutchie for nearly an hour as he rubbed water on his many wounds. Crutchie wondered vaguely why Ten Pin was in his hallucination.

The boy was suddenly at his side. Crutchie looked up at him blearily. He had already decided this was a dream. "C'mon," Ten Pin pointed to the window. "It's the Cowboy."

Crutchie smiled. Even in a dream it was nice to see Jack suspended outside the window. He grabbed for his crutch, getting up and steadying himself on Ten Pin, who supported him to the window. Both his legs weren't working at the moment. He didn't miss dream-Jack's expression of surprise and anger at the sight of him not being able to walk.

"I don't believe it," Crutchie said truthfully, "I just don't believe it." He didn't usually believe dreams. "What'cha hanging around here for?" He glanced at the rope. His subconscious was getting very good with details.

Jack smiled a little painfully, Crutchie noticed that he was angry, "What do you mean 'what am I hanging around here for'? You know who's on the roof?"

"Who?" Crutchie let go of Ten Pin and clung to the window's bars for support as he craned his neck upwards, half-expecting a monster to jump out.

"David."

Crutchie caught sight of David. He was surprised that his mind had remembered what the boy looked like, he'd only seen him a few times in the two days since he'd known him. "Is that Dave? Hiya, Davey!" Crutchie grinned broadly. He was beginning to like this dream.

Jack put a hand on his. It was warm. Both of them looked surprised at how cold Crutchie was. Nobody was cold in dreams. "Hey Crutch, get your stuff, we're getting you out of here."

Exactly what Crutchie didn't want to hear. He gulped and glanced around, then leaned forward a little, "Well, actually...I ain't walking so good, Jack. Oscar and Morris, they kinda worked me over, you know?"

Jack looked angry when he said, "They hurt you?" Crutchie nodded, biting his lip at the memories of the stinking Delancey brothers. "Well," Jack continued, "Me and David, we can carry you out."

Why did everyone offer to carry him? He could walk by himself, he'd already proven that. Anger flared inside of him as he turned on Jack. "I don't want nobody carrying me, you hear?" seeing Jack's look of disappointment, so like that of the real Jack's, Crutchie turned his head up again, "Hey Dave, you know they're still talking about the time Jack rode out on that coach." He smiled again, the anger forgotten and dream-Dave snorted.

"Yeah, Teddy Rosevelt's, right?"

A flash of pain went through him and Crutchie managed a weak, "You've already heard the story." He shook his head, trying to rid it of the pain that was now throbbing there. Jack and David were starting to dissolve, blurred into nothingness, the same way all dreams ended.

A few more images were provided by his consciousness. Syder coming in, Jack leaving with a tug on Crutchie's arm, Ten Pin helping him get back into the small bed.

And when Crutchie awoke the next morning, he still remembered the dream. But now he was left with reality, and he was alone.

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